


Bloodstains

by In_love_with_writing002



Series: When Buttercups Wither Verse [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF! Jaskier, Gen, Ghost! Jaskier, God! Jaskier, Gods, Poetry, Stregobor is a piece of shit, mentioned torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_love_with_writing002/pseuds/In_love_with_writing002
Summary: Sometimes, mages ask Jaskier for help in their rituals. Most of them are nice. One of them is not.
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Other(s), Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: When Buttercups Wither Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787980
Comments: 42
Kudos: 557





	Bloodstains

**Author's Note:**

> dfjslgj I woke up this morning and wants God!Jaskier to make a diss track for Stregobor

When mages discover his purification abilities, Jaskier is called for assistance in rituals and spells. He always helps Yennefer, though not without a bit of snark. He may have forgiven her for the issues they had in the living world, but he isn’t about to be _sweet_ with her.

He meets a few other mages who he learns have a connection to Yennefer. Tissaia, who needed a silver bell, was her teacher. Jaskier finds he actually could learn a lot from her about himself if he was looking for a teacher. Like Mother Melitele has told him however, the answers come with time.

He also assists a Triss Merigold, who he never knew in his life, though she seems to have a connection with Geralt. She’s nice, and has tea with him as a thank-you for purifying her well water.

There are other mages, but only one who he clearly remembers. It may have been his favorite interaction so far, other than the time he rescued Lambert. (He’s saved others from dark places since, but Lambert’s holds a special place in his mind.)

The mage’s name is Stregobor. Everything he’s heard about him has been horrible, and when he meets the man in person, he seems no different. The man seems to exude an inky nastiness around him, a horrid energy that makes Jaskier’s entire being crawl.

He’d also been summoned, had been in the middle of a lovely chat with Eskel— (after a while Eskel discovers he can hear his voice at all times, a little easier on his ears than the disembodied screaming of his early days. Jaskier has a complete voice now, but he’s still certain Eskel Can only hear him due to his strong connection with magic.) when the familiar tug had been a yank, which, _rude_. At first he’d thought it was a Witcher who urgently needed his help, but when he arrived and had seen the sorcerer waving a hand and bending chaos around, he’d been almost offended.

“You know you can just say my name, right? And I’ll hear it? It's not a secret anymore,” Jaskier scoffs. He’s been a ghost for almost a decade, at this point.

“Jaskier. Purity god.”

“I prefer Witcher god, thank you. Mother is the one who gets to call me that.” Stregobor wrinkles his nose and _oh._

_Oh._

This man is not going to be receiving his help.

Jaskier can feel the rage that returned him to life in the first place bubbling up to the surface of his form. The urge to cause _bad things_. He hasn’t wanted it in a while, has been satisfied with mild inconveniences, but Jaskier is _powerful_ now, and he hears a chorus of voices chanting in his head,

_impure, impure, impure…_

Nothing happens. Jaskier’s rage is controlled.

“What do you want, Stregobor?” He asks. It’s the first instance of him naming someone before hey tell him who they are. Jaskier knows the names of everyone he meets, feels it echo through him as a convenient way to skip an introduction.

“I have some ritual knives that have been stained. I need them fresh again.” He gestures to a table beside him, where several very sharp knives greet him.

_Impure, impure, impure..._

They’re stained in blood. He approaches them and runs his hand over their handles, not exercising his powers yet. Names echo in his head, women’s names, girls whose presence lies in the tarnished silver. The knives have been used to kill. Jaskier grits his teeth and faces Stregobor, holding a knife. The knife appears clean but Jaskier can _hear_ the muffled screams of girls who died by the blade. Jaskier smiles, and the blade in his hand erodes into rust.

Stregobor’s eyes widen.

_Impure, impure, impure…_

“Stregobor, Stregobor,” Jaskier sighs, walking past the mage. He brushes his hand over his pants to clean it— he hasn’t been gifted any clothes, so he has nothing other than the outfit he died in. It works though, he thinks, his brightest yellow embroidered with silver, and blue accents. He chuckled to himself.

_Stregobor, what a whore,_

He says the line like the beginning of a poem. Stregobor blinks, offended.

“What, do you dislike me calling you names?” He asks. “So many rhymes for your name. Door, sure.” he narrows his eyes. “Pure. Or impure.” Jaskier lifts a hand and his other ornate silver knives rust into uselessness.

_Bore, chore, what am I here for?_

_A pawn for a man whose heart isn’t pure?_

_A man who steals and asks for more?_

_A man who demands without giving reward?_

_Stregobor, Stregobor, Stregobor._

“What have you done to my knives?“ Jaskier grins. The anger in the mage’s eyes is wonderful. He doesn’t particularly enjoy being a vengeful spirit, but it’s moments like this where he’s proud of where he came from.

“I’ve purified them, see? The goodness in them,” he gestured like he’s about to state something obvious. “The blood from those girls you murdered, it’s all clean of its impurities now.” Stregobor’s eyes are angry. He can see the man attempting to will chaos on him. He knows he is just. A god is always just, after all. They _must_ be.

“You have no use to me,” Stregobor declares.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Jaskier says. He almost wants to touch him, to find out if there is anything good in the man in front of him at all.

He doesn’t think he would find any.

“Goodbye, Stregobor.” For a moment, when Jaskier lifts a hand to snap, to disappear dramatically, he sees Stregobor flinch in fear. He laughs before he can stop himself, and even as he clicks his fingers, he is sure Stregobor can hear it echo.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me and the rest of this Verse on Tumblr as well! [In-love-with-writing002](https://in-love-with-writing002.tumblr.com/)


End file.
